Okay. Every Monkees site needs to have a "You Know You're Obsessed Page," so...here tis. I'm constantly adding to this list, since my Monkee-loving-drive is constantly going, and I'm constantly being told I'm obsessed for some reason. So...yeah! Yay!
You know you're obsessed if...


You've seen every Monkees episode ever aired. Twice. Or thrice.

You have an imaginary pet werewolf that you call Micky and you feed it imaginary cream of rootbeer soup.

You get detentions during health class because you sit and daydream about the Monkees all period...(I did that! That's why my health teacher dislikes me! :P - Clairba)

You never, ever, EVER vacuum your hair. The Monkees ARE in there, and you know it.

You find attacking poor, defenseless coke machines very funny, and sometimes do it yourself.

You get ferociously jealous whenever one of the Monkees falls for a chick on the show. That chick's supposed to be YOU, and it's absolutely illegal if it's not.

You call refridgerators "Zlotnik girls" and think that ripping off the heads of telephones, hollering in their ears, and putting the heads back on the bodies is inhumane.

You believe that every time someone mispells "Micky" as "Mickey," a baby kitten explodes.

"I LUV THE MONKEES" is written all over your notebooks.

You have a Monkees site. (Guilty. *Mike hits her over the head with a gavel* - Clairba)

Whenever someone insults the Monkees, you find out where they live, and shove mad rabid weasels down their pants while they're sleeping.

You turn into a werewolf sometimes, and your landlord accuses you of having a dog.

Whenever you REALLY don't want to do something, but have to, you say to yourself "Do it for Peter. Do it for Peter." to make yourself do it. (I do that with my algebra homework on occasion... - Clairba)

You've listened to Last Train to Clarksville 8237654863875421360856049375634875682734657846238765879692876958764 times. And counting.

"Head" didn't scare you the first time you saw it.

And 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee only scared you slightly.

You cried the first time you saw "Success Story." (Very true for me! I was about this close from sobbing when Davy had to leave for England...and then when the other three started crying, things just got worse! - Clairba)

You repeat lines from Monkees episodes at random, whenever you feel the need to. Or don't feel the need to.

You relate EVERYTHING anyone says with the Monkees. Ex: Teacher: We'll be learning about mitochondria today. You: Oh, really? As in the mitochondria in the cells of animals? Animals and humans? You know what, the Monkees are humans, too! They must have mitochondria as well! Can we learn about THEM, too?

The Day We Fall In Love didn't make you barf.

Well...maybe it made you barf a little. But not so much that anyone would notice.

You laugh at stupid things in Monkees episodes that normal people wouldn't find funny.

And while you're laughing at those stupid things, and when people start staring at you because you're laughing, you wonder why they aren't laughing as well.

The top 25 most-played songs on your iPod are all Monkees songs.

You've been caught Davy-dancing numerous times.

You make yourself your own Monkeeman suit, and run around your neighborhood in it, screaming "WALLAWALLAWALLA MONKEEMEN!!!!!"

You frequently see people talking to popsicles.

You've slept with your More of the Monkees record before. (No comment. - Clairba)

You fahnd yoursaylf talkin' in a Mahk Nay-yezmuth accent everuh once in a wahl.

You watch Your Friendly Neighborhood Kidnappers over and over and over and over and over again, just because the Monkees strip each other at the end. (Once again...no comment. - Clairba)

When people think your goals are so trivial and small, you don't think they know you at all.

You check the inside of your vaccuum cleaner to see if the Monkees are in there....you know they are. They're just hiding.

You frequently forget what the name of that one band with the guys who have high heels and the one guy with the nine-foot tongue...

You dream about the Monkees more than 3 times a week.

You have a blue and or green woolhat named Wooly Nesmith. (I sure do! I'm wearing him right now! - Clairba)

You literally have to switch your brain off of "Monkee mode" before doing your algebra homework, or you'll end up with log12 x log8 = Micky.

You wrote a Monkees-themed essay for grammar class, and you got a 110%. (Meeee!! - Clairba)

You name EVERYTHING after your favorite Monkee. (My Latin book's named Micky. - Clairba)

You've seriously considered changing your name to Peter/Mike/Micky/or Davy.

You've practiced the scream you'd make when you meet a Monkee more than three times this week. (If you're a loser like me, who HASN'T met a Monkee...*sob* - Clairba)

You know never to feed a horse cream of rootbeer soup.

You use groovy words like Frodis, Mijacogeo, etc, whether you know what they mean or not.

You use the word "groovy" in your everyday speech.

You've told people your name was "Rob Roy Fingerhead" more than once.

And you told them so convincingly that they actually believed you.

You have to inflict physical harm on yourself to spell "monkey" right.

You have to inflict physical harm on yourself to spell "money" right as well.

You have to inflict physical harm on yourself to spell any word that begins in "mon" right.

You've listened to Your Auntie Grizelda so many times, that you have memorized the random squeak-pop-squawk noises Peter makes in the instrumental.

You can sing along to them, too.

Anyone who knows at least two Monkees songs besides Daydream Believer and I'm a Believer is your new best friend.

Your parents have to physically keep you back from listening to "Pool It!" for the bajillionth time this week.

The 80s Monkees don't scare you.

In fact, you're madly in love with the 80s Monkees. (Ahrrm. Hee. - Clairba)

Instead of listening in class, you read over and over again the page in your history book that mentions the word "Monkees".

You know that horses don't eat salami.

You're in love with Mike's boots.

You sit in your garage for hours in your woolhat and eight-button-double-breasted shirt and sing "Sweet Young Thing" over and over and over and over and over again, until someone notices and puts duct tape over your mouth.

You desperately want a Nudie suit. And you want to sing Naked Persimmon while wearing it.

You've learned 70% of your vocabulary from watching Mijacogeo. (You know....important words, like "creebage," "gleeb" and "frodis"....)

The person who tells you that the Monkees suck is a dead man.

You put "Age only matters if you're cheese!" on your mother's birthday card one year.

Your computer runs extremely slow because you've got 900+ Monkees pictures stuffed onto your hard drive.

And the other of your 1000 Monkees pics are stored on random CDs, because your hard drive couldn't hold them all.

Whenever a commercial for Kelloggs comes on, you get angry because they don't play the Monkees' Kelloggs jingle anymore.

You've named one of your pets after a Monkee or Monkee-related person/thing.

Whether you know how to draw or not, you've doodled Monkees pictures all over your schoolpapers, work papers, binders, folders, and notebooks.

You like to hug people who have dimples because they remind you of Peter.

You wish you had dimples. (That is, if you don't already have them. - Clairba)

You're obsessed with he way Mike says "Strictly" on "Some of Shelly's Blues."

You were almost choked up with tears because your younger cousin said that she liked the Monkees better than rap music. (I'm so proud of her, too! *sniff* - Clairba)

You can use up a whole ink cartridge on your printer in 30 minutes, solely from printing out Monkees pictures.

You almost DIED the first time you saw the older Monkees, but you soon learned that it's a fact of life that people get old, and you learned to accept that, and you've been known to say at times that older-Micky is an extreme hottie. (Ahrrm. Hehe! - Clairba)

You try to get your teacher to let the class watch "Head" on a free day. (I'm GOING to get her to let us watch it!...someday...someday... - Clairba)

You've been known to hold a magnifying glass up to your face and yell "LANCASHIRE MIDGET GREENIE!! AHHHHHHHH!!" at random times.

You went to drastic measures to get your parents to have them let you use their credit card to get a copy of "Who's Got The Button?" from the Internet.

You get choked up with emotion every time you hear As We Go Along. (Gahh....Micky's voice...so...freakin...AMAZING....BAHHHH.... - Clairba)

You giggle insanely, just like Peter does, every time someone mentions the phrase "missing links."

You also giggle insanely when your math teacher says "missing lengths," which sounds like "missing links."

You say "gosharooney" instead of swear words.

At night, the fact that you're wondering what the heck "Kretch" means for two hours straight gives you extreme insomnia and you can't sleep until you've come to some odd conclusion of what it might mean.

And the fact that "Kretch" is a nonsense word doesn't stop you from wondering what it means.

Whenever you sing "Magnolia Simms," you have include every little detail. (including the part where Mike's talking and clearing his throat in the beginning, all his "ladadadeelaladadabababumboobumladada"s, and the part where the record skips four times. And you make the ripping-the-needle-off-the-record sound as well, no matter how annoying it sounds.)

You understood "Head."

You often stare at people for long periods of time, seeing if they have physical characteristics of any of the Monkees. (So far I've found two girls and a boy who look like Micky at my school. And lots and lots and lots and lots of people have Peter noses. And dimples.)

You can't eat Kelloggs Cornflakes without singing the Kelloggs Jingle.

You don't care if your friends like the Monkees or not. They're going to get a Monkees present for their birthday from you.

Your friends have gotten used to this.

You are highly predictable, and people can know you're going to say something about the Monkees before you even say it, by looking at your excited facial expressions.

Your icon on MSN messenger has been a Monkee and/or the Monkees for six straight months.

Your friends find your facial expressions hilarious when they lie about Micky dying earlier that morning. (And it makes you really mad!)

You refer to your landlord as Mr. Babbit, whether your landlord is a man or not.

You cried for two hours when someone told you that tickets were sold out to a Davy concert near you. (Not like I ever did that or anything....*blushes* - Clairba)

You cried after you finally got tickets to your first Monkees or solo-Monkee concert. (I did. - Clairba)

No matter how sad/mad/upset you are, the Monkees can always, always cheer you up.

If you take a creative writing class, all of your stories have Monkees references plastered all over the place. (I wrote a fable about Peter Halsten Penguin, and a character description of Joseph Peter Mike Micky Davy Williams who works at the Thorkelson Law Firm whose two children are Monkees fanatics... - Clairba)

You screamed for every corny commercial that featured Davy whenever it was shown on television.

Mike's yell-singing in "Writing Wrongs" doesn't make your ears bleed.

When you find a good picture of the Monkees, you find it your duty to show it to everyone around you. Even if you don't know them.

Whenever someone across the room is talking about the Monkees, you hear them, and scream "WHAT? MONKEEEEEEES?!!" Even if you have your headphones on, you can still hear them.

And if it just so happens that they're talking bad about the Monkees, you have to give them a seven-hour-long lecture about how the Monkees are awesome and drive your point home.

If you take a foreign language in school, and are assigned to write sentences in that language, they all end up translating into "I LOVE THE MONKEES! THE MONKEES ARE AWESOME! THE MONKEES ARE BETTER THAN YOU! THE MONKEES ARE SO HOT!" (Ego Micky amo! Ego Micky amo! - Clairba)

You own an eight-button double-breasted shirt.

Your English teacher is absolutely and positively tired of you basing every single one of your writing assignments on the Monkees.

When anyone uses the words "Monkees" and "suck" in the same sentence, you are forced to attack. The only exception is when they say "The Monkees do not suck."

You think that there should be a "Monkees Awareness Day." (Hey, I wrote about it in an English writing assignment once! - Clairba)

You've read "Who's Got the Button" 5 times or more, and still find it hilarious.

When people say "Frodo," you think they're saying "Frodis" with an odd accent.

You love small children. (Because they're easy to mold into potential Monkees fans! Mwahahaha! WORLD DOMINAAATIOOON! - Clairba)

You consider your favorite Monkees song your "theme song."

Whenever anyone asks you what you want for your birthday, you immediately answer "THE MONKEES! IN THE FLESH! NOW! I DEMAND YOU!"

People constantly tell you "You know, there IS more music out there besides the Monkees!" but you never hear it because it just blows over your head.

You sing Tapioca Tundra like a 6 foot 2 male Texan...when you're a 4 foot 11 female Yankee.

Whenever you're having a Monkee-related dream, you feel depressed when you wake up because...well...you're not having that dream anymore!

You often curse at your slow computer because it isn't loading Monkees pictures fast enough.

There is hardly a time in a normal-functioning day that you aren't thinking of the Monkees.

You hate the fact that every time you look up Davy Jones on Google Image Search, more than half of the results are of the pirate and not of our Davy.

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen your favorite Monkees episode. It still makes you laugh hysterically.

You don't understand how people could not like the Monkees.

You often stare off into space, playing scenes from Monkees episodes in your head. People know not to interrupt you while you're in this state, since chances are you will probably not respond.

If there was a soundtrack to your life, it would be Monkees.

Whenever you hear someone talking about the Monkees, your heart rate increases, you get instantly hyper, and you immediately butt into their conversation and grin.

You love the TV Monkees AND the real Monkees. You also love the character a Monkee plays on some non-Monkee show, movie, or whatever.

You stalk random people who look like your favorite Monkee.

No one knows your real last name: Nesmenzorkones.

You get mad when you get a bad grade on a paper that you wrote about the Monkees. It's about the Monkees, man! IT SHOULD GET A GOOD SCORE.

Your parents (or whoever you live with) know never to take away your Monkee privileges. If you do, you go into seclusion, stop eating, cry, and feel symptoms of extreme withdrawl.

You're constantly on eBay, Amazon, and other sites because you're in desperate need of Monkees things you don't have that you don't need.

But you think you need them!

You never open windows, because condors might fly in.

You seriously believe that Mike should run for mayor.

You wish you had an awesome red telephone that you could pretend was a cat.

You had a proper funeral when your favorite Monkees CD got played too much and scratched beyond recognition. You buried it and have a headstone for it.

You believe that any music store that doesn't have Monkees CDs isn't worth visiting.

Whenever a Monkees episode happens to be playing on television, you get disoriented when you see that a scene has been edited out.

But you're forced to tape any Monkees episode that comes on television, no matter how horribly chopped up and edited it is.

The only show you think is worth watching daily is the Monkees.

You freak out and have a celebration every time your favorite Monkees site has been updated.

You drove your friend insane by singing "Ditty Diego" seven times in a row while on a bus ride.

And if you haven't done that already, I can guarantee the person who sits next to you on a bus will have completely lost their minds by the time you're done with them.

If you're sick, watching the Monkees makes you un-sick.

Whenever you see a kettle drum, you have the primal urge to put on a tablecloth, get two large sticks, and maul it while singing "Randy Scouse Git" at the top of your lungs. (I should know. There are three kettle drums in the orchestra room at school....they send me telepathic messages during class. I cannot concentrate when they are in the room. - Clairba)

You yelled at your encyclopedia because it didn't have a Monkees article in it.

You cannot possibly begin to comprehend how people get the Monkees mixed up with the Beatles.

And you get very mad when people mix up the Monkees with the Beatles.

Your brain immediately comprehends "Dow Jones" as "Davy Jones," and you get very excited whenever you see it on television.

When you watched Pirates of the Caribbean in the theatre, you squealed with joy every time Davy Jones (the pirate) was mentioned. (I diiiiid! - Clairba)

You got a philodendron. You named it Frodis.

There was at least one point in your life where you were bent on thinking Davy Jones was your husband.

You've gotten unnecessarily upset when you started talking about Davy Jones, and the person you were talking to was completely oblivious to what you said, and proceeded to reply "...but does he have a locker?"

Your firstborn will be named after your Monkee, regardless of gender.

You ordered the dish Golden Chow Mien at a Thai restaurant, cause it reminded you of Monkee Chow Mien. (And yes, I did do this once. But it was right after I watched Monkee Chow Mien for the first time and the dish was very good anyway. - Clairba)

You scream the lyrics to "Long Title: Do I Have To Do This All Over Again?" when you end up with the wrong answer to a tri-variable linear system on an Algebra II test and have to do it all over again. (I'm guilty of doing this as well! - Clairba)

You wish you were 5'3'' in boots.

You bring home fortune cookies and feed them to the dog you don't have.

You've written a thirty-page essay completely based around Micky Dolenz's nose.

You wish your nose was like Micky's.

You get unnecessarily angry when spellcheck automatically corrects you when you type "Monkee."

You're afraid to go downstairs at night to get something for your upset stomach, because the Chinese people might kidnap you.

You tell inside Monkees jokes to your friends, and start laughing hysterically. Nobody understands them, and think you are completely out of your bird. (<--Aha! There's an in-joke for you already! -Clairba)

You know what "Frodis" means.

You try to make your friend Monkee-walk with you in public.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for an hour and a half, trying to perfect your crazy-Micky face.

You freaked out when you passed a sign on the highway that said "Pleasant Valley." On a Sunday. (This really happened to me once! It was amazing! - Clairba)

You also freak out for every sign you see that says "Clarksville."

You looked everywhere for a recipe for cream of rootbeer soup.

When you went to a concert of your favorite Monkee, you wore faux cat ears so you could stand out in the crowd. (Not like...I did at a Davy concert once, or anything...*mumbles*.... - Clairba)

You have a pair of moccasins, which you call your "Torkasins." (...I'm not the only person in the world who does that, am I? - Clairba)

You go under the pseudonym of Babyface Morales, and you convince everyone you meet that you're a gangster.

You give all of your friends Monkee-esque nicknames against their own will. You get highly offended when they don't answer to them.

You can recite full episodes from memory.

You drop all of the "r"s from the ends of your words.

You giggle insanely when people say "Don't do that." (Oooh, goodness knows I do. - Clairba)

Your school notes are littered with little doodles of your Monkee, woolhats, Mr. Schneider, and other such things. (My zoology notes are filled with doodles of Micky. My teacher thinks I'm insane. - Clairba)

You bought a pair of aviator glasses, because they reminded you of Mike.

You buy any article of clothing that vaguely reminds you of a Monkee. And you wear it in public, too, no matter how ridiculous it looks.

You find yourself wishing you were the birdie that flew into Micky's mouth during the badminton match with Ronnie in One Man Shy. (Hey....a girl can have her quirks, can't she? ;) -Clairba)

You had a dream where you were in bed with all four Monkees, like in Monkee See Monkee Die. (Yes. I did have a dream like this once. They put Mr. Schneider on top of me and I couldn't move, and Peter was crying because he wanted to sleep where I was lying. I snuggled up with one of The Monkees, I'm not sure which, though! - Clairba)

You made your own Monkeeman costume for Halloween. (Call me a loser, but I did...I even wore it to the Halloween orchestra concert at school! It actually looks really good! - Clairba)

You wore your self-made Monkeeman shirt in your passport picture. (I did. Along with my Davy button. And, as with all other passport pictures, I look half-dead. But my glorious Monkeeman-ness made up for that! - Clairba)

The Wind-Up Man scene in 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee did not give you nightmares. (...can't say that's true for me... - Clairba)

You wish you could vomit confetti, like Micky.

You've gotten at least one of your friends obsessed.

Whenever anyone mentions the play Oliver!, you immediately think of Davy.

Whenever anyone mentions the movie "Halloween," you immediately scream out "MICKY DOLENZ WAS IN THAT MOVIE!!" (I do! And nobody knows what I'm talking about. Yay! - Clairba)

Whenever anyone mentions MTV, you immediately scream out "MIKE NESMITH INVENTED MTV!!"

Whenever anyone uses White-Out, you immediately think of Mike's mother.

Whenever you see someone selling woolhats and scarves at a flea market, you immediately have to stop whatever it is you're doing to search for a green woolhat. Even if you already have one. (I've done this numerous times at the Covered Bridge Festival, and managed to find a blue woolhat! Yay! - Clairba)

Whenever you find a Monkees album in a record store, you immediately do a mental victory dance (or physical...whatever floats your boat :P) and tell everyone around you that you just found a MONKEES album. (I'm notorious for doing this. I once found a copy of PAJ&C at a record store, and screamed. The attendant lady asked if I was alright, and I just gave her a big, stupid nod. - Clairba)

You laugh at even the stupidest Monkees commercials. (The Kool-Aid commercials ROOOOOCK. - Clairba)

Whenever you see the phrase "Blue Suede Shoes," your mind immediately translates it to "Shoe Suede Blues."

While your brother is playing the video game "Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion," you make him enchant his character's pair of blue suede shoes, and name them "Shoe Suede Blues." (Hahaha...I made my brother do that. I'm such a weirdo. :D - Clairba)

You are viciously jealous of all of your evil, evil friends who have gone to a Monkees/solo-Monkee concert, and did not invite you. You plan to beat them repeatedly with a large stick in their sleep. (Meep! *ducks so she is not hit with a large stick* - Clairba)

You have the box set of all the episodes. For both seasons. With the commentaries.

You actually listen to the Mike commentaries. (It took a lot of work, but...I finally got through at least two Mike commentaries. - Clairba)

You can't blame Peter for loving Princess Gwen.

Your heart bursts with happiness every time you think about them.

You have been sitting here, nodding at every warning sign mentioned here.

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